A Dance of Power
by Silly Little Sparrow
Summary: Narcissa and Lucius: how they got to know--and love--one another. This follows a few characters, but it is Narcissa/Lucius centric.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

**A/N:** This is based off a chapter in George RR Martin's A Game of Thrones (a book I highly recommend :-)). It seemed to fit...

Her sister held up the gown for her inspection.

"This is beautiful, Cissy. See how the colour will bring out the violet in your eyes? Touch it. Go on, caress the fabric."

Narcissa raised her hand to the gown; it ran like liquid flame through her fingers. It was a woman's gown, no doubt; long dagged sleeves, full skirt that would accentuate the hips, and front slashed almost to the bodice.

Bellatrix smiled, pleased. "You like it?" She hung the dress beside the door. "Tonight, sweet sister, marks the ending of your childhood." She touched Narcissa's hair, almost with affection. "My gentle Cissy, soon to be married, to a man of the Inner Circle, no less."

This was, Narcissa knew, what Bella had been waiting for. A connection that would propel the Blacks further into the world of the mysterious Dark Lord. Neither sister had actually _seen_ him, but Bellatrix was already enraptured. She had heard tales from their father, of the magics he wielded, the raw beauty of his ideals.

"We'll have it all, sweet sister," she would say. "The spells and adventures and the power. Oh, the _power_, Cissy! Think of all we could do..." Their parents, always charmed by Bella's savagery, took pride in her ambitions.

Narcissa stiffened. "Nothing's final yet. He wants to see me first."

Her sister smirked. "Yes, yes, he wants to check the goods before he buys them." Her voice darkened. "Of course, you cannot fail to entrance him. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes...you are the blood of the old Rosier line, no doubt. And highborn, as well..."

When Bella had gone, Narcissa went to her window and looked out wistfully on the gardens of Black Manor. Leaving the Manor, the castle of her childhood...to live with a strange man, wealthy and powerful. Bella said she was lucky, but all Narcissa wanted was in the stories: roses and waltzes and books of poetry; a gentle husband who played music for her, and composed songs in the firelight. The comfort she had never known.

There came a soft knock at her door. "Come," she called, turning away from the window. Two Black servants entered, bowed, and set about their business. Narcissa knew most of the staff: Nanna had read books to her when she was a child; Emmund, the butler, had rescued her countless times from the great Lake by the Manor; and Shae, a cook who often fed her candied nuts, or bread smeared thick with honey. But she knew little of the two women in her room now. One of them was old, tight lipped and gray as a mouse. The other was a girl, of an age with Narcissa, who chattered happily as she worked.

They filled her tub with water, scented with jasmine, and steaming in the Autumn chill. The girl pulled the heavy robe off Narcissa's shoulders and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding, but Narcissa did not flinch or cry out; she liked the heat. It helped her to forget the coming ordeal.

The old woman washed her long, silver-pale hair, and gently combed out the snags, all in silence. The girl scrubbed her feet and back and told her how lucky she was. "The Malfoys' are so wealthy that even their servants wear silks. They're the most prominent pure-blood family in all of Europe, and the Dark Lord's most valued and trusted." There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man Lucius was, so tall and fierce, a champion dueler, the finest potion maker. Narcissa said nothing. Didn't they understand?

When she was clean, the servants helped her from the tub, and toweled her dry. The old woman combed and lotioned her hair, until it shone like molten silver; the girl dressed her first in smallclothes, and then the gown, a deep plum silk. They pressed amethysts into her hair, and drew silver bracelets over her arms. Last of all came the ruby brooch, an early gift from her betrothed.

Bella was waiting in the entry hall, speaking in hushed tones with their father. She turned when Narcissa appeared and appraised her critically. "Good, Cissy. You look--"

"Regal," Father finished. He offered his arm. "Ready, my darling?"

She took his hand, but sat quietly once in the palanquin, arms crossed in her lap. Neither her parents nor Bellatrix seemed to pay mind, deep in conversation as they were. They passed the gate at Malfoy Manor without trouble, and finally, the palanquin slowed. The curtains were thrown back, and a servant appeared to help her down.

Inside the manse were dozens of people, talking and laughing. Narcissa knew only her family, but her parents moved among clusters of people comfortably. The air was heavy, and spiced with cinnamon and sweet lemon.

Narcissa was looking at the family portraits, and wondering which one was Lucius when Bellatrix placed a hand on her bare back. "He's here, sweet sister," she whispered, breathless. "To the left."

The servant girl was not far wrong, Narcissa thought. Lucius Malfoy was a head taller than most in the room; yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther Bella had received as a birthday gift the year before. He was young and fair, she could see, flaxen hair flowing unbound about his shoulders. The robe he wore was a simple green silk, fastened at the side with a silver brooch.

"Wait here," Father said, and she could hear the anticipation in his voice. "I'll bring him to you."

Bella took her by the arm. "Do you see his ring, sister?" It was silver and emerald, with two serpents: one devouring, the other staring with ruby eyes. "It is a symbol of his great loyalty to the Dark Lord. It signifies one of the highest ranks, and _you_ will be his wife."

Narcissa did not know how Bella could know this; but she nodded, throat tightening. His face was hard and cold, eyes sharp as steel. Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't want to," She heard herself saying. "Please, Bella, _please_. I want to go home."

"Home?" Bella hissed. "This could be the most important marriage of the decade, and you want to go _home_?

Narcissa began to cry.

"Oh, Cissy, I'm sorry," Bella said, touching her shoulder. "We can discuss this later, I promise." She rubbed the tears from Narcissa's cheeks. "Hush now, and smile." Her hands fell, and she turned to greet the approaching man. "And stand up straight, for Merlin's sake."

Narcissa smiled, and stood up straight.

**To be continued...or not. That, I suppose, is the question I ask _you_.**

**Reviews and feedback are welcome :-)**


	2. Amycus Carrow

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

**A/N:** Although this is mainly a Narcissa/Lucius pairing, I've planned on making this fic follow more than one character. There will be point of view chapters--Narcissa and Bellatrix for sure, and Amycus (this chapter is told from his POV), and some others. Please send any suggestions/requests. I hope you enjoy!!

Lucius and Avery were already settled at the great table when Amycus Carrow appeared. There were other Followers at the conference, too: Antonin Dolohov, gray and elegant; the bear of a man, Igor Karkaroff, bearded and fierce; and Jugson, the newest member.

Amycus remembered well his own induction into the Death Eaters, less than a year past. He had been seventeen, and fresh out of Hogwarts. The night was cool and clean when Amycus arrived at the Dark Lord's manse, and he had shivered.

"Having second thoughts, son?" His father had questioned.

He caught the message: _don't embarrass me here, boy. Tantrum later, cry if you must; but tonight you'll be a man_. "I only wondered when this would start." He glanced around the room, noting the subdued conversations of other Followers.

Lord Carrow fingered his wand. "Soon, I should think. We wait for the Dark Lord."

Later that night, when it was done, Amycus traced the tattoo in his flesh. The wound was throbbing dully. "A pain that will never fully heal," his father had said, echoing Voldemort's own words. "To remind you of your servitude."

_Servitude,_ he thought. _Slavery, at the mercy of a sociopath. What fool am I?_

His father had tried to make a soldier of him as a boy: he'd instructed him in hand to hand combat, took him hunting, ordered him to sleep on the hard floors, with few blankets; all at the age when most little boys hunt for robin's eggs, play marbles, or explore caves.

The first time Amycus had shot an animal, his arrow missed the heart. Lord Carrow's eyes were cold and hard as flint. "Kill it, son. Think of it as a mercy, if you like, but when you return to camp, I expect it to be finished." Carrow had turned his back on the dying deer, leaving his son under the trees, clutching a short steel knife in pudgy hands. Amycus had stumbled into camp, nigh on a hour later, tunic bloodied up the sleeves and torn. It was the first time he saw pride in Lord Carrow's eyes.

But Amycus never told his father how he'd stroked the deer's hide, muttered a spell to ease the animal's pain, how he'd lingered with the deer until it's spirit fled; nor how he had buried it under rocks, and whispered a prayer. The Lady Carrow had guessed, Amycus could tell, though she never mentioned it. His mother was the one who'd introduced him to music and language and mathematics. He had weekends for off free play, and he'd sit in the library for hours, learning to read and write. The majority of his free time, however, was spent on _music_. He played the flute, the lyre, the harp, and even sang in a clear boyish soprano.

Lord Carrow had given up on the boy early on, and left him, contemptuously, to his letters and numbers and songs. Now Amycus, a man grown, became a Follower of the Dark Lord; yet still, in the privacy of the library, he played music and read books, as many as he could carry. The Dark Lord spared him of any overtly gruesome tasks, ordering him to attend conferences with his higher-ranking Death Eaters.

"Carrow," said a light male voice. Amycus jumped, shocked out of his thoughts, and saw Jugson beckon him over. "Come sit here. We've just ordered refreshments."

He wandered over. Jugson was a tall youth, all arms and legs and teeth. He passed over a steaming cup of spiced wine as Amycus sat.

Amycus felt eyes upon him. He looked up to see Lucius Malfoy gaze at him, head cocked to one side. Dolohov treated Amycus with disdain; Jugson tolerated him; and Avery enjoyed taunting him. Lucius, however, was respectful, and would listen patiently as Amycus laid out a strategy, or discussed ideals. He had even opposed Avery for mocking Amycus while dueling.

"Let the fatty catch his breath," Avery had jeered. "It's not his fault for dropping his wand."

Lucius winked lazily at Amycus. He whispered, "Try using 'Mammallia' next, if you want a laugh."

Amycus had fumbled for his wand, feeling the wood slide between sweaty fingers. "_Mammallia_!" He shouted, and a jet of pale light shot into Avery's chest; the boy's lean chest began to _grow_, two globes blooming smugly above his sternum. Amycus had burst out laughing, joined by Lucius and Dolohov, and even Karkaroff cracked a grin.

"At least I'm not a woman, Avery," said Amycus. And once he realized what was happening, even Avery couldn't prevent a smile.

_Though I'll wager it cost him a lot to do it. _Amycus took a sip of wine. "What's on the table today?" He asked.

It was Dolohov who replied. "Nothing major," he twirled his wand about long, tapered fingers. "Just regular business today."

"_I_ want to hear of Malfoy's marriage," announced Avery. "The wench is certainly something to look at." He smirked.

Amycus helped himself to a plate of fruit, bread, and cheese, saying nothing.

He saw Lucius's face darken. "Take a care how you regard my betrothed, Avery. I'll not tolerate disrespect of any who bear the Malfoy name."

"Well, she doesn't bear your name yet, Lucius. Who knows, maybe I'll carry her off before the wedding, see if I can't make her scream _my_ name." Avery quaffed his wine, chuckling.

Lucius was lightning quick. He held the puzzled Avery by the throat, teeth bared. "I _warned_ you, Avery. I've tolerated enou--"

Dolohov stepped between them. "No violence in these quarters--you two know the rules," he said, disgust evident in his tone. "If you must fight, do it elsewhere, and _not_ when you waste my time."

Amycus saw Malfoy's face smooth immediately, his breath even. Lucius inclined his head to Dolohov, once again impeccably polite, features carefully schooled into a mask of cordial indifference. "My apologies, Antonin. I forgot myself." His gaze passed calmly over Avery, who was still rubbing his throat. "Shall we continue?" Lucius took a swallow of the spiced wine.

Dolohov cleared his throat. "Actually, today's business is _all_ on the upcoming marriage," he paused for Avery's groan. "You can see that, surely. The Malfoys' are all Higher Members; half of the Followers shall bear witness to the actual ceremony, and the rest will attend the following celebrations."

Amycus glanced sideways at Lucius. He envied the man, to be sure, and not just for his skill and charm. He'd seen the girl--young lady--he was to marry, at the other night's Betrothal celebration in the Malfoy Manse.

Amycus had watched her through the night, carefully hidden behind the damasked folds of a portiere. Narcissa Black shared all the grace and elegance of her sister, yet the arrogance with which Bellatrix Black seemed particularly endowed did not manifest itself in Lucius' betrothed. She seemed possesed of a gentler nature than the majority of her family; with that soft mouth and filly limbs, the girl projected an aura that was achingly vulnerable. Even Amycus, with his short legs, bulging tummy, and boyish cheeks, had felt compelled to roar her name and declare her his. Yet when, briefly, those violet eyes had met his own, the familiar jolt of inferiority had siezed Amycus in it's claws, and he'd turned away, pink-faced and shivering.

Amycus watched Lucius speaking with Dolohov, his gray eyes clear and sharp_. He could make her happy, if any could. I'd much rather settle down with a stack of old books and a honeycake; it can't be that terrible, not taking a wife_. His own lady mother had taken ill when he turned thirteen; she had died soon after_. Father seems content enough with Alecto_.

It was true. When his sister had been born, Lord Carrow had transferred his affections to the girl; Alecto was much more a warrior than Amycus, and desired it besides.

Amycus stood when the meeting was done, and made his way miserably back to Carrow Manor.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading. Any ideas on what POV should be next?


	3. Severus Snape

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

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Bellatrix was draped in silks and scented oils, while Severus Snape wore unadorned green robes and a scowl. The stone archway had seemed smaller at a distance; now it loomed ahead, and Severus shifted the clasp about his throat uncomfortably, all too aware of the eyes that scrutinized their entrance. "Come on, then." Bellatrix urged, excitement flushing her cheeks. "They're about to announce us." She gripped his wrist, fingernails sinking in to the soft wool of his garment.

"Belle," he said, twisting his sleeve from her grasp, "you're meant to _rest_ your arm on mine. Don't you know _anything_? Besides, it's Lucius the crowd wants, to be sure." Severus heard their names being called, and automatically moved forward.

"I _know_ the proper arm hold, Severus. Do you think me crass as a peasant?" Her indignant hiss belied the perfect smile she wore for the other guests. "Anyway, why shouldn't the gathering be interested in us? I _am_ sister to the bride, and this is _your_ truest friend's banquet."

Severus did not reply. He led the way through the Great Hall to the four oaken trestle tables, nodding to the men who lined the benches. Their spot was reserved directly to the right of Lucius Malfoy, a place of honour. Next to them were seated the young groom's closest advisors: Karkaroff the Laughing Scholar, and perched beside him was Dolohov, graceful and gray, slender as a knife. Severus mouthed required pleasantries to each of the men, and even greeted pudgy little Amycus cordially enough. Having no mind for small talk, he fell silent when Bellatrix began speaking amiably amongst the men, emeralds glinting at her throat as she moved.

He looked instead to the Aldrichean tapestries hugging the walls, depicting events from history. Most scenes were easily recognized--the Battle of Eyndaras Pass, the Northern Watch Alliance, the Treaty at the Northern Gate. Some scenes, however, were ambiguous at best--even unrecognizable--to Severus and other scholars who had studied the walls. _Will the deeds of my life be sewn into those tapestries one day? Will old, bearded men gaze at my picture, and wonder who I was, and why I fought?_ His fingers found the chain about his neck, clasping round the Prince sigil. _Or shall I pass from memory, along with the house of Prince?  
_  
It was partly because his mother was the only child of the Prince bloodline, he knew; though the once noble House had begun to fade long before his mother's birth. _The price of bearing only girl children_, Severus thought, _is far too great a burden for any noble. But let the Houses richer in sons battle it out for control, and leave me to my studies, to my research._ He liked his work; back when he studied at Hogwarts, Severus was given his own workroom and equipment, and, under the watchful, heavy eyes of the Reictor Edgast, was allowed to perform experiments and studies.

If he sunk into meditation now, away from the noises in the room, he could picture his old workroom: the heavy table of rough, unrefined wood, shelves stacking to the ceiling, crowded with bundles of herbs and flasks and jars. Nothing was labeled; a Master had to rely on scent and touch and taste to identify ingredients. Aside from Reictor Edgast, there were none who excelled at this better than Severus. And then there were the books, leaflets, and scrolls that he would spend hours perusing, making notes, writing articles...

A sharp pain in his right foot brought him out. "He's about to enter," Bellatrix whispered harshly. "Are you listening to me, Severus? _Lucius is coming in_."

He directed a glare at his escort, but decided not to answer. The doors were opening, and a jowly man puffed his chest and said, "Lucius Malfoy, heir to Winterhall and the Malfort." And then the tall figure appeared, silhouetted by torchlight and one hundred candles.

He certainly looked the lordling tonight, Severus mused. Lucius had chosen to wear a doublet of fine Perlain cloth, emerald, and embroidered in indigo and silver with the Malfoy Crest: a rearing sea-steed encircled by five stars. He wore no weapons (although Severus suspected those wide sleeves concealed a wand), but his belt alone was a thing of beauty, a slender chain of silver links, clasped by a blue lace agate. Over that was the cloth-of-silver cape, heavily damasked with a wave-pattern.

The guests stood as Lucius made his way to the centre table. The young lord was solemn, but the laughter showing in his eyes belied his youth. Lucius took the hands of Karkaroff and Dolohov before he sat down, then turned to Severus and did the same. _His hands were rough,_ Severus reflected. _More rough than one would expect for a Lord's son. All the wandwork, likely_. Or perhaps it was because Lucius preferred to attend his own horses, brushing and feeding and riding them each day.

Once Lucius had taken his seat, the party resumed sitting and conversing. He turned to Severus. "I didn't think you'd come, my friend."

"Oh?" Severus raised a brow.

"Yes," he said laughing. "I know you far better than any other. You _despise_ celebrations, and like people even less."

"You should be lucky, then, that I'm quite fond of eating, and I like you even more."

"I know." The gray eyes were suddenly somber. "I know, Severus. You're my dearest friend." He scanned the table, but the others were engaged in some debate or another. "And once I'm wed...that is, I trust you will be my dearest friend for life," he said quietly.

The hairs rose along Severus' neck. "Of course," he murmured. "Seasons wither, but hearts remain, yes?"

A smile broke across his face. Lucius extended long fingers. "Brothers forever?"

"Brothers forever," Severus echoed, clasping his hand.

There was food after that, twenty one courses for Lucius' twenty one years. Smoked fishes and boar and thinly-sliced duck meat came on silver and bronze platters, and fruits and ales, all kinds of breads and cheeses. There were pigeon pis cooked with oats and celery, so soft in the mouth, and at the end, a three-tiered cake, nearly three arms wide.

Although Severus had said he was fond of food, he ate no more than three or four bites for each course, and often less. He feasted his eyes instead on the graceful youth sitting to his left. Bellatrix paid him no more mind than she had to, anyway.

"Your last meal as a free man," Karkaroff was telling Lucius. "Enjoy it, if you can. Your betrothed is likely trying to do the same. Did you know they have bride-banquets?"

I imagined they did," said Lucius carelessly. "Though it's something of a secret, isn't it? How much can anyone know about it?"

"Very little," Karkaroff allowed. "Unless they were to be enlightened by someone..." His eyes lit on Bellatrix, who had been listening with hooded eyes. "A sister to the bride, perhaps? No? Well then, tell us why you're here with us and not there with your sister."

Bellatrix's red, red lips had curved to a half smile. "I'm here because Narcissa didn't want a banquet."

"No banquet? Going against all tradition already. Now why would she want that?"

"She rather wanted a luncheon." The smile grew. "A small gathering, mainly family. Father only consented because Cissy said she felt nervous, and wouldn't enjoy herself."

"Ah," The Laughing Scholar leaned back. "And you attended, I trust? No, don't answer, I think I know the reason why dear Narcissa wanted a luncheon. It does make a certain sense, I suppose."

Severus looked at Lucius for a reaction, but it never came. He only smiled and cut into his meat. Severus wondered if Lucius had guessed at the real reason why Lord Rosier had allowed his daughter to bypass the bride-banquet. The old man was crafty, no doubt, and would have arranged a marriage for Narcissa with anyone from the Inner Circle. But the Lady Rosier was keen on finding a fair match, as well, and demanded that her husband find a good man, close to Narcissa's own age.

_And there's where Belle came in. Who better to find the little flower a good husband than a woman who was already a gem of our social workings? Dear Belle, who can rattle off the names, titles, and heraldry of any Follower. And who better to ensure that Lucius is behaving like a good little son-in-law?_ So Narcissa got her luncheon and Bellatrix was free to accompany Severus to Lucius' celebration.

He filled his eyes with Lucius again. A fair husband indeed.

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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed Snape's POV. Cheers :-)


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